


Tico Bait

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Series: Fence Sitter [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8989021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: Chapter 13 - Fence Sitter
28-year-old Micah has been dating Dante even though they've had a long-distance relationship after he returned to the Bay Area at the end of the summer.
Dante visited over the weekend and is taking the first flight back tomorrow morning. Micah's feeling sorry for himself until he's interrupted with an unexpected proposition.





	1. Chapter 1

Outside, in the dark, beyond the picture window, the rain came down in sheets. Water cascaded down steps and sidewalks, diverted briefly by masonry stamps, and pooled at the bottom of the hill at the corner where leaves and litter had piled up over the past few months and blocked the gutter that would have otherwise siphoned the flow of rainwater into the sea.

I snuggled deeper under the covers, pleased about my decision remain indoors and not at my favorite table at my favorite haunt, where I usually found myself on a Sunday night. Tonight, the weather would have the shop crowded with people who stand around and drip everywhere rather than taking their coffee to go per usual. I would also bet money that there will have been at least one person who had lacked the foresight to stay well away from the same flooded corner that they, themselves, careened through when searching for a parking spot.

The corner that also happened to be less than a dozen steps from Danny’s coffee shop. And when that person sloshed through the front door, dripping from head to toe, shocked at the gall of _some drivers_ , Danny would pull out some spare towels to help them mop up, offer them a warm cup of something, and have a customer for life. And if you happened to be a tall, blond and angular man, with a name like Richard, a mastery of tax codes, and a soft southern drawl designed to make your pants come off of their own accord, you might get more.

A lot more.

At first, I was happy for them.

Really.

Genuinely happy.

Then, I was jealous.

Possibly bitter.

Definitely lonely.

Then in a stunning turn of events late last year, the three of us shared some time together, usually with me as Richard’s little spoon and Danny as mine.

I returned to being pleased for them.

And, these days, I see them virtually every day. So, what was a big thing between all of us wasn’t an issue anymore.

That said, the reason I thought of them right now, in this weather, on a night like tonight, was because their having gotten together was also the reason that I was now the sole resident of the place that Danny inherited from his grandfather. I hated being left behind. And it was about to happen again. This time by a certain someone who had an early morning flight back to the Bay Area.

Oh, I was ridiculous — on the living room couch, in sweats and socks, feet up, book open, TV on, eyes closed, under a fort of blankets made necessary by single pane picture windows and a drafty front door that could do with a new insulation strip.

Dante should be curled up next to me or maybe sitting with my head on his lap, reading aloud from Paulo Coelho’s  _O Alquimista. B_ ut the book and its English sister, _The Alchemist_ , were currently on my nightstand, propped on open pages, where we put them this morning .

Instead, he’s somewhere doing something.

He mentioned a shower.

For a while, he was cleaning up our dinner plates, though I said I would do it. I bet he also put grounds in the coffee maker programmed to go off two minutes before our morning alarm.

That was how it was at night. He got a burst of energy after his evening shower, while I got snoozy — even more so with rain like this.

He called out, “You want a drink, _tico_?”

“No, baby,” I called back, after having briefly poked my head out of the blanket and, because he wasn’t within sight, tucked it right back in.

_Tico_. That’s what he called me. Not honey, love, darling, or sweetheart. Not babe, not baby. Absolutely not peach, pet, petal or sugar.  Nor did he call me _nego_ or _neguinho_ , which he tried and stopped since it sounded offensive to my American ear and my grimace supposedly wasn’t conducive to getting him hot. 

Which was a lie. 

Nothing got him hot faster than annoying me. 

Yet volumes of names for me passed through his lips and none of them fit. 

For a while, he called me _gato_ (literally, a cat) and joked that he should call me  _gatão_ , which meant the same thing the same thing but a middle-aged and, possibly, cranky one. Which I was not (yet). Then, he called me  _xodó_ , which I guess was something like “main squeeze” or “baby” but couldn’t confirm it. _L_ _ingo_ , _bonito_ , _chuchu_ , _chorinho_ , or other words that meant which any number of variation on the theme of handsome, cutie, sweetie. In private, he said I was _gostoso,_ which was exactly the kind of thing you might say to compliment someone’s cooking. 

That one was my favorite.

When taken as an experience, it was horrible-nice in that way of someone who had taken you shopping, paid you loads of attention, and then rejected everything you tried on. So, I felt a tangible sense of relief when he found the thing that fit perfectly, _tico._

I just didn’t know what it meant.

As far as I could figure, it had no direct translation, and of those I had asked — those in our group who had lived in Brazil, anyway — each had something different to say about its meaning. 

How did I know this? I asked. 

Explanations came in the form of someone waving their hands around as they said, “Oh, you know,” when I very well didn’t. 

“Ach, it’s kind of like…uh,” tried _Amante_.

“That. Is. Freaking. Adorable,” was Bea’s proclamation.

_Tia Sabina_ patted my arm and said, “It’s good, _Polar_. The two of you always did have a special relationship, didn’t you?” To which _Mestre_ added, “Hmmph, more like thinking the rest of us were blind so you could make eyes at each other.” 

This was news to me. “Since when did we do that?” I asked. 

_Tia_ and _Mestre_ looked at each other then she huffed and grinned and gave me one of those looks, brazen and matronly, over her glasses and said, “ _É mesmo_? Remind me when you didn’t.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” said Bernadette, who recently returned from her honeymoon in São Paulo, where she and Júnior managed to Skype us from Dante’s mom’s house. “And…I think I know what it is.”

“Yeah? What’s that.”

“It’s the bird from that song…oh, what is it?”

I was doubtful and also intrigued because -- honest to god -- I never knew where that man came up with his ideas, “What bird?”

Dante apparently knew exactly what she meant. “You mean no one told you about the little sparrow called _tico-tico_?” He had been standing at a respectful distance and chose that moment to get all up in my space from behind me. “It’s a cute little thing that sings and eats a lot. A bit like you.” His hands brushed over my waist and hips and landed on my ass with a little squeeze, all while planting kisses up my neck into my ear, “Except you aren’t so little…” 

_Fucker._

Bernadette fanned her face and said, “I’m just going to leave you boys to it.”

_Really_. I glared at him.“That’s not…dude…a sparrow…really, is it?” I asked.

“Dunno. Is it?” he answered enigmatically. I knew that mood. He wasn’t going to reveal anything — other than how fun it was to keep me guessing.

“I _will_ have my answer before you leave.”

“Uh huh,” he laughed, “I’m sure you will.”

That hours ago and I was still none the wiser. “ Dante,” I called out, wanting to know where he was, “ _Onde está voce_?” 

His answer echoed off the tile walls of the bathroom into the living room, “ _Venha ao banheiro, tico_.” Since this afternoon, he’s been using  that name in every sentence directed toward me. 

Because he could.

Because it irked me.

Because he liked irking me.

I wrapped the blankets around me as I stood up in a sort of cocoon that my head and stockinged feet stuck out of. It was impossible to walk like a normal person. So I waddled. And I opened the bathroom door.

Where I saw Dante — shoehorned into  the dinky excuse for the tub that was installed back in the forties when this place was built.  His shoulders, arms, and feet hung over the edge of the porcelain amidst tall pillows of bubbles

I started to say, “You look…”

“Sexy?”

“Always but…”

“Hot?”

“Maybe a bit steamy.”

“Alluring?”

“Um…” More like squished, hilarious, adorable. “I was going to say uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure that you didn’t mean to say something about how seeing me like this reminded you how badly you needed to spend every last second with the man of your dreams before his trip tomorrow, didn’t you?”

“Totally.” 

“Join me.” He hitched his leg up and slid back in an attempt to make room.

“Dante,” I chided, “That tub wasn’t made for one grown ass man to fit in it, never mind two of them.”

“ _Não me negue na minha última noite. Por favor_ ,” he rolled the last r over and over, his equivalent to my version of _pleeeeeeeze_. As if he needed his one-sided grin or the tip of those teeth suggestively pressing into his lower lip to convince me to, as he said, to keep me from denying him anything on the last night of his very short visit. “ _Tico_ , take those off and get over here.” 

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.”

I gave him some side eye while I lifted off my socks one at a time by trapping the heel of one foot onto the toe of the other. But then I spied two open bottles of Mission Blonde at the foot of the tub. “One of those is mine, right?”

“Maybe,” he said patiently, “if you can bother getting your ass in here.”

I picked up one and made a point to take a long pull off it before I shook off my cocoon. Then, I peeled off my hoodie and, with it, my shirt, dropped them both on top of the blankets, kicked the whole mess into the hallway to be dealt with later, and pressed the door closed with a _click_. 

“ _Você quer isso?”_ I asked. My accent was appalling. He could read to me, speak to me from now until forever and I’d still have to count on giving him some hint, like hooking my thumb over the waistband of my sweats to get the point across, _Is this what you want?_

Then again, he was so fucking easy. 

And not just cause he wanted it (‘cause he did). That part was obvious from that smart ass grin, and from the way his eyes dipped and slowly rose back up. That look he gave me — the one right there — sent blood straight to my dick. I reached down into my sweats to stroke myself, letting the back of my wrist stretch my pants and loosen the cord enough to let them slide down. 

“ _Venha aqui_ ,” he said. _Come here._ He licked his lips to wet them as I made my way closer. One of his hands disappeared under the thick carpet of bubbles and the other tugged at the hem of my sweats. I lifted my foot get free of the fabric and held on to his shoulders as I squeezed it through an imaginary space on the far side of him so that I was now standing, facing him, with my hips at eye level.

With a raised an eyebrow, he looked up and asked me, “So, _this_ is how you want to do this?” 

If I were smarter, I would have recognized the warning in his voice. The one that told me I’d done something…not wrong, exactly…but wrong enough that he would take some recompense. It might be minutes or hours but there would be a think he would do, he’d outsmart me in a way that, most likely, would piss me off. 

But I wasn’t smarter.

I was watching him.

And, by definition, I couldn’t watch him and be smart at the same time. It was impossible. Every last inch of Dante Te Waero was both obscene and gorgeous. And if I couldn’t think when the promise of him wrapping his lips around my dick was imminent, well, I had no chance when he actually did.

Especially when he used a flick of his tongue, instead of his hand, to guide me into his mouth. To suck me down slowly. Like we had all the time in the world. Like he hadn’t trapped me with his eyes so dark now they could be black. Like he hadn’t silently dared me to move or to say one more fucking word. Not even when the word was _yeah —_ because I _did_ want it like that.

With his nose bent and pressed up against my pubes, his gag reflex all but absent. 

With him sliding off me, his mouth warm and wet, my shaft slick with his saliva, which cooled even now when he pulled offto run his tongue in fat circles and suck on my balls, one at a time.

With tufts of his thick black hair sprouting through the gaps between my fingers where I held him in my grip.

The man could make me burn. 

He angled his head, twisting in one direction as he slurped me down, the other way when he pulled back. His eyes stayed on me through each turn of his head, each thrust, each time he grabbed my ass to pull me into his throat, with his lips pressing at the base of my shaft and with his throat muscles swallowing the tip of my dick.

“Dante…,” I groaned.

I moved my hand from my wall to the back of his neck, a risky move since one ankle was trapped on the underside of his thigh and the other was perched on the sweaty lip of the tub, in danger of slipping. He was a master, sliding on and off, totally in control, while I gasped and shivered and matched the pace he set by thrusting into his mouth. 

I tried to pull out — Not that he let me. I was going to kiss him but he said, “Huh-uh,” and gripped my ass harder. Sucked harder. His rhythm sped up to punishing — taking me deep and sloppy and fast.

I was going to lose my balance.

“Oh…fuck, Dante.” 

I had one hand clenched in his hair and the other holding me up by clinging onto the high ledge just below the window. He gripped me harder — his hands on my hips, his lips on my dick. It was so good, I wanted to cry.

“Let me…”

He stilled and let me fuck his mouth. 

And I was so, so close.

“I’m going to….” 

His arms were around me, attached, rock solid, locked down as I let loose and pumped frantically until I exploded and spasmed and clutched at him and cried out and he swallowed every drop of cum I had in me.

“Dante…” I said and crouched down until my face was level with his and I could see straight into his brown eyes that were as deep as forever. 

I was wrecked.

“What?” It came out _waaaaattt_ , long and nasal, in a way that made me laugh like he knew I was going to say something stupid now. 

Maybe I was.

I probably was.

So, I kissed him instead. The way I wanted to before, with my hands at the back his neck, to nibble his lower lip, to force his lips open with mine, to suck on his tongue, and now, to taste my cum mingled with his saliva. 

“Now you,” I said.

He shook his head and said, “I can wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you about something?”

A stab of alarm went through me. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“Because…you’re being…serious. And…,” I covered my face with my hands, “oh god, oh god, oh god…you’re…”

“Turn around, Micah,” Dante told me. He scooted back to make as much room as possible between his legs. I positioned myself with my legs bent to prop feet on the wall over the spigot and with my back against his chest while he stroked my arms and continued to silently freak out. He said, “We’re just talking, okay?”

I swallowed hard and waited for the guillotine to drop.

“I talked to your neighbor today.”

“Which one?”

“The one right in front…the one you share a yard with.”

“Okay.”

“What do you think of his place?”

“It’s sweet.”

“How sweet?”

“Gorgeous. Amazing. Incredible. Why?”

“I liked it, too.”

“Okay,” I hedged, not quite ready to admit that he lost me.

“Know what I really like about it?”

“No, what?”

“Guess.”

There was a lot to like about the two story bungalow built near the tail end of the Arts and Crafts movement. The split front porch had a swing on one side, benches on the other and was framed with xeriscaping. Doors and windows were inlaid with stained glass and what looked compact from the outside turned out to be sprawling and spacious with amazing details like — “Built-in shelves.” 

He laughed, probably understanding my reference to our attempt at building a book case for the attic room at _Tia Sabina’s_ several months ago before we hit up Bernadette for help.“Yeah, built-in shelves are nice but that’s not it.”

I thought some more. The tiles were vintage — shades of pinks and greens and yellows and creams that Alfonse Mucha would’ve used. The architecture and orientation of the house were clever and kept the house close to the perfect temperature year round. Though, it also had a — “Fireplace. You’ve always wanted a fireplace.”

“Okay,” he admitted, “I might have ideas about fireplaces but that’s not it.”

Mentally, I walked around the place. It was pristine and had three or four bedrooms (I couldn’t remember which), a nice kitchen, a few bathrooms, an open attic that was used as a den or library or something.

“I don’t know. I can’t guess.”

“Think.”

“Uh…it’s close to where I live.”

“ _Oi._ It’s about the house. Come on. Try harder.”

“Give me a hint.”

“Okay,” he said and thought for a few moments. “Are you comfortable in this bathtub?”

“No. This is ridiculously small.”

“Exactly.”

“You…like the bathtub in that house.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you like about it?”

“It’s old-fashioned. Made of cast iron, I think. The spigot is in the middle and the sides are high.” His arms tightened around me and he said, more pointedly, “I bet two people could be comfortable in it. Even two grown-ass men.”

That made me shoot up and whip around, and I accidentally pulled some of his skin with me in the process of doing so. “Ow!” I stammered an apology and stared at him, trying to figure out if he was saying what I thought he was saying. Because just the thought of what I thought he was saying made my heart flip.

“Go on,” I demanded.

“Oh, you want to know more?”

“Yeah, I want to know more. Tell me.”

“He’s getting ready to sell it.”

“That so?” I was intrigued.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And…I might be thinking of buying it.”

“Huh. Really? I didn’t know you could afford it.”

“Well, that’s the thing.”

“Okay.”

“I could cover half.”

“Half?”

“More or less.”

The next set of words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat. Me and the guy I’ve been in love with for more than half my life.In our own house. In a really fucking beautiful house. 

In _our_ really fucking beautiful house.

He’d be here.

I need to say something. The something I needed to say was _yes_. Of all the times my speech decides to leave me, why now?

“Hey,” he said softly, “Is it too much?” 

I shook my head.

“You want me to stay?”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around his neck. 

I swallowed.

Why couldn’t I say it? 

_Stay._

_Always._

_Forever._

_Be here every morning._

_I love you._

_Don’t go._

_Ever._

“Or if you don’t like that one, we can look around at others.”

“That one,” I rasped.

“Okay.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“Okay, I’m saying it. Yes, I’m serious.”

“Wait — But how is this going to happen? Your job…”

“Can change.”

“But we can’t buy a house…”

“Unless I have a new job.”

“And do you?”

“I do.”

“What the hell? You kept that secret.”

“I got the offer while you were sulking on the couch.”

“You’re kidding. Are you kidding?”

“I’m not kidding.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“I can show you if you want.”

“I want,” I said, astounded. 

This was happening. He was going to move back. We were going to live together. And buy a house. With what? I didn’t even know how much I had. Not that I spent anything. “Dante.”

“You’re going to move here?”

“Only if you’re ready.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m so ready.”

“Good.”

“By the way…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t sulk.”

He burst out laughing and continued laughing until he snorted. Then he laughed some more. 

And because it was impossible for me to be right next to someone who was out-of-control laughing — even if I was the butt of the joke — and not join in, I laughed as well. Just not as hard. And not as long. And not long after, I protested, “It’s not that funny.”

He made a face, as if to say _whatever_ , and tried to catch his breath. But couldn’t.

“Dude. You’re being so rude right now,” I told him.

And now he was wheezing.

“Fine. I’m getting out. You just stay there,” I said, flipped the toggle up so the tub water would drain, and grabbed my towel to start drying off. “I look ridiculous,” I looked at my ass, and the three to four inches above and below it, that was bright red from being underwater.

“Help me out, _tico._ ”

“Why?”

“I’m stuck,” he erupted into laughter all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

Getting Dante out of the bathtub was an effort for the ages. Mostly because he couldn’t stop laughing. Then I couldn’t stop laughing. But also because the water, when mixed with whatever bubble concoction he dreamed up, ended up suctioning him to the side of the tub, where he was already fitting quite tightly. It took me pulling on his hands, with my foot against the wall for leverage, and him flailing like a beached hedgehog, to have him come away from the surface with a resounding _thwoop_. 

“That’ll teach you,” I said, and held my stomach, which was sore from laughing so hard. 

He replied, “Totally worth it.” The towel in his hand scrubbed across his head in a final attempt to dry his hair.

“What?” I exclaimed in surprise, “How’s that?”

“I got what I wanted, did I?”

“Huh. That right?” I asked and wrapped my pinky around his to take him to bed. The second I opened the bathroom door, though, I yelped, broke out in goosebumps, dropped his hand, picked up the stack of blankets, ran into the bedroom to quickly waft layers of comforters, jumped under them, covered myself to my eyeballs and huddled down to get warm. 

Dante stood at the doorway, naked as he arrived into this world, with his arms and legs crossed, perplexed. “You know we’re in Southern California, right?”

“Whatever. It’s. Freezing. Get over here.”

“Why?”

What I thought was, _So you can warm me up_. What I said was, “So I can get you off.”

“Alright,” he said, and proceeded to the close side of the bed to position himself so that he was standing, much like I did in the other room. On purpose. “How about like this?”

“How about you get under these covers?”

“How about if I do this?” He yanked them off.

I screamed.

I grabbed the blankets from out of his hands to toss them over my head and scrambled under my protective shroud to fix the corners of the blankets so they hung over the sides of the mattress. Then, I slid one of the pillows into my puffy, comfy haven and lay down again.

The covers at the bottom of the bed lifted to a gust of freezing air that swirled around my legs, which jerked up on their own accord to put me in the fetal position. 

“Dante,” I cried, “why are you doing this?”

“What’s wrong, _tico_?” he taunted. 

Oh god. Here it was. That thing from earlier. That thing I should have been more worried about. That thing I promptly put out of my mind the second he started blowing me. 

“Please get in here. I got in the tub when you asked. Get in bed. _Pleeeaaaaze_.” 

“And did you get in right away? No, I don’t think so,” Dante said and crawled in from the opening at the bottom of the bed to wriggle over my curled-up body until his arms were on either side of my head. “But for you, _tico_ , I’m here.”

“God. Finally,” I complained and unfurled just enough to wrap my arms and legs around him. He dropped to his elbows and tucked his knees under my hips. Then he kissed me. He didn’t have to be tentative (he wasn’t) or careful (he was) but he did (apparently) need to demonstrate that he could make me melt into this bed, into these sheets, never to be seen again. 

If he wanted to.

My hands roamed up his back and down his sides. His chest brushed mine. I arched into him with an urgent need to keep contact and received a toe-curling stream of kisses down my neck.

“Dante,” I sighed. 

“Hmmm?” he answered, busy peppering more kisses over my chest, nibbling from the fold to the front of my armpit across the valleys between my ribs. 

“ Do you _have_ to leave tomorrow?” I knew the answer, of course. He had a class to teach at two o’clock and office hours before that. And, as new faculty, he didn’t just have to teach 2 classes on MWF, he had another 2 classes with labs on TTh. And he would do through the end of the spring semester. But now that I knew he’d been making plans to get back down here, I just wanted him to stay and never go back. 

He chuckled straight into my ear. It made me shiver and contract my legs to pull the weight of his hips onto mine. “Why, _tico_? Do you want me to stick around all of a sudden?”

“Maybe.” My hips ground against him, sliding my dick against his. 

“Maybe?” He teased.

I teased back, “Yeah, maybe.”

“Enough to…” he prompted and ground back against me, his dick was already hard and thick.

I flipped him so that he was on his back with me straddling him. “Hell yeah. Definitely enough to…” My kisses traveled down his neck and his chest, stopping briefly to twirl my tongue into his belly button.

“Micah?”

“Yes, baby?” I panted, running the flat of my tongue across the crease in his hip.

_“Você dá o melhor boquete,”_ he groaned and ruffled my hair while I tongued at the drop of pre-cum at his slit. I didn’t need encouragement to close and personal with any part of Dante’s body but hearing him speak dirty to me in his native language — and, more specifically, hearing him say that I gave the best blowjobs? That made me want to blow his mind.

He admitted to me once that he got homesick when he went too long speaking English only. That was seven or eight years ago when I had visited him for a few weeks sometime after Danny broke up with me and right before I started law school. It was late afternoon. We were still in bed from the night before, facing each other on our respective pillows, tired and dirty and bordering on sleepy, having finished yet another round.

I had known that he moved to live with _Tia Sabina_ when, at twelve-years-old, his dad moved back to New Zealand to live with his Maori family and his mom caught wind of him acting as a watch out for a local dealer. After that, he went back for summers, but only after she’d moved to from the  _cortiço_ of his childhood to a small apartment in Santa Cecelia where he wouldn’t run into anyone he used to know.

God, we were like fucking rabbits that visit. It was surprising that we talked at all. But we actually talked a lot. And after he said what he did, I told him to speak Portuguese to me as much as he wanted. So he did.

That didn’t mean I always knew what he said but most times I could figure it out. 

Like now.

“ _Sim, lambê-lo lá,”_ he said and arched his back when I ran my tongue over his taint. It would take me a few moments to mentally translate what he meant: _Yes, lick it there._ He vocalized a long string of appreciations and desires with me doing what he wanted just as I figured out what he meant.

And then he said it.

“ _Chupa meu tico.”_

Then he was silent.

I froze.

_What?_

Okay.

I was a little distracted. Maybe I didn’t hear what I think I did. My brain slowly engaged. He said that differently…and what did he say again? 

_Chupa_ — suck

_Meh_ — my

_Tico…_

I shot straight up to my knees, ripping off the covers off us in the process, and roared, “A _dick?_ Seriously? That’s what _tico_ means?”

He lay back, happy as a clam, with his hands behind his head like we were out in the sunshine after a picnic. Not like I had been giving him and absolutely fucking pro blowjob. He should not be able to think straight right now.

“Maybe.”

I was incensed. “What the fuck?”

He just looked at me, amused, not at all bothered, while he sat up and wrapped his arms around me tight enough so that I couldn’t leave. Had I registered before he locked me down, I would have got away but I was shocked by this realization so best I could do was wrestle away. “Get off, dude. I’m so fucking insulted right now,” I huffed, “Then what’s with everyone saying _aw, that’s so cute_ and _oh, that means you’re so special.”_

“Yeah, well. It does.”

“Oh? How do you figure?” I was yelling now. Yelling, naked, and wriggling in a frankly undignified manner with my _boyfriend_ whose diminutive of choice for me was, by all accounts, what people used to insult each other.

“It means I see you and I love you for who you really are,” he asserted. There was just enough light from the moon and the rain to see his eyes twinkling.

“Fuck off.”

He laughed, “I can’t help it if the name suits you.”

“How _exactly_ does the name suit me,” I growled and failed to escape from his grip. Needless to say, I was thoroughly underwhelmed with this new direction of our discussion.

“Okay, Micah…okay. Calm down and I’ll tell you,” his attempt at placating me was going about as well as my getting away from him. I stopped fighting. He loosened his grip and turned serious. “Because, baby… you make me work so hard for everything.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit.”

“I gave it up the second you asked for it.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

He nodded his head, “Yes, Micah, I know. You’d fuck me from here to eternity. But everything else? No. You make me work so fucking hard for you. To tell me you want me. To tell me you want to visit. To tell me you love me. How hard was it for you to tell me you want me to stay?”

“Wait,” I said, offended, “I’m a dick because I implied that I might not want you to leave tomorrow?”

“There. See how you talk to me? You don’t even tell me you want me to stay. You _implied_ that you _might_ not want me to leave.”

“That makes me a dick?”

“Hell yes, it does. I’ve been putting myself out for you for how long? You should have been the one to ask me to stay.”

“You have a whole life up there — your job, your place, your friends…you moved away for a reason. How can I ask you to give that up?”

“Are you doing that _if you love something let it free_ shit? Because if you are, you need to stop. If I’m going to come down here, if we’re going to live here and we’re going to buy a house together, I need you to step up and act like you love me. Fucking stop pretending that you couldn’t give a damn which way the wind was blowing.” 

“Dante.”

“Yes, _tico_?” prodded Dante, his expression nonplussed, save his eyes which dared me to challenge him.

I brushed his hair with my fingers and tucked it behind his ears. “I hate you a little right now, you know that?”

He nodded. “Figures.”

“I can’t believe you interrupted a blowjob to make your point.”

Dante pulled me down. He wrapped his arms around me so we were lying next to each other and sighed, “Yeah, right? What was I thinking?”

“I don’t know. What _were_ you thinking?”

He stroked my cheek and said, “That you’re a dick and I love you.”

“You know what? That actually makes me irrationally happy.”

“Oh good. Apparently, I live to make you irrationally happy.”

“That makes me even more irrationally happy,” I told him and, because I felt magnanimous, I added, “I would tell you I love you back but I’ve loved you since we first met and it would be rude to bore you with such old news.”

A huge smile broke out over his face, “Really?” He ran his hand down the back of my thigh and scooped it up to rest on his hip so he could snuggle closer. “Did you think about me while you were jerking off?”

“God, yes. Until I was raw.”

He licked his bottom lip. “Oh yeah? What’d you think about?”

I closed my eyes and thought of all the times I saw him making out with  Laura Nunez and wished I was her or how, when we lounged side by side looking up at the sky on the small grassy hill at school, I would think about leaning over to kiss him. And then after he graduated, how he would surprise me — maybe at lunch or after school — and blow off the other guys to take me somewhere private, like one of the caves off the coast that we could only get to by swimming on his surfboard, and we’d _do it._ Then the thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts that came up with him shirtless and sweaty in the _roda_. 

“What? Come on, tell me,” Dante prompted and chose that moment to tweak my nipple.

I squeaked. “The fuck? You’re a brute tonight.”

“Me? No. I think you are imagining things,” he reasoned, running his hands gently over my back and frowning (but not really frowning, just fake frowning, ‘cause he knew I was right). 

“I think it’s because you could have cum twice by now and you haven’t. So you’re cranky. You’re taking it out on me — even though you cock blocked your own damn self,” I said and crawled on top of him. “There’s only one thing for it.”

“What’s that?”

“I have to fuck you.”

He chuckled and wrapped his hands around the back of my neck, pulling me down to kiss him. “Yes, you have to fuck me.”

“No more calling me names?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t give me the…mmmm.” 

I interrupted him, remaining attached to his mouth with little kisses even as I reached blindly for the bottle that was always within reach.

“Hold your knees up for me,” I instructed and slathered both of us with lube. 

And there he was — back to being easy — his legs wide open, giving me access to everything and letting me do whatever I wanted while he moaned and made obscene noises with his obscene mouth even as I did my best to keep it occupied. 

Dante sucked on two fingers on one hand while I fingered him with two fingers with the other. He pressed his tongue along the web of my hand to separate the two digits and play with them one at a time before he brought them together again and slurped loudly.

“I need to be in you,” I said, positioning my hips between his legs and then lifting them to put his ankles on my shoulders. His eyes fluttered when I entered him, sliding slowly, fascinated with the sight of his hole stretching to accommodate me from the moment my tip entered until I bottomed out. Wrapping my arms around his thighs, I pushed in more. “Jesus, you feel good.”

Dante strangled out a beautiful noise and grasped at the bed sheets beside him. 

I thrust again. 

And again with purpose.

And then over and over again, rolling him in soft, rapid undulations. He rocked into my thrusts, squeezing as I pulled out. _Oh, fuck_. I needed to get closer, I leaned forward to kiss him and brought his legs with me. They spread and hooked over the crease in my elbow, giving me a new angle that let me fuck him faster and deeper.

He grabbed the hair at the back of my head and, panting, shoved his tongue in my mouth. I rose up to my toes to pound him long and deep and felt his insides give way each time I entered him. “ _Sim_ ,” he said, arching back and closing his eyes, “ _bis_ ” — _yes, again_. 

“You’re going to feel me tomorrow…when you’re standing up…in front of your class…and you’re gonna think about me…what I’m doing to you right now,” I breathed. “I swear, Dante. I swear you are never going to doubt…”

He pulled my hands off the sheets and put them on either side of his neck so our chests slid across each other each time I slammed into him. 

I wanted to crawl under his skin, to taste him from the inside, to get his smell all over me. I wrapped my hand around his dick and jacked him at the same speed that I fucked him, my hips like pistons, driving hard and fast.

The look on his face — the way his eyebrows tilted up at the center and his nostrils flared and his mouth soft and open, ready for me to kiss him again — he was so mine in that moment. It fucking killed me. 

Dante’s head tilted back and he cried out. 

I was so close. 

I continued to thrust through his release. 

He attacked my mouth, and gave me brief sips of air filled with his I love you’s, “ _Eu te amo, tico…Eu te amo.”_

I was frantic — out of my mind — fucking him like an animal, snapping my hips and scrambling to get even closer to him. And when I came, it was with a force so great, I felt for a moment that my entire body had disintegrated. I collapsed, dropping all my weight on his skin that was slick with lube and cum and sweat, and lay there shaky and spent with his arms still around me and his chest pressing up against mine with every inhale.

At some point, I toppled to the side.

Jesus, he was beautiful.

I couldn’t even be made right now about… “Dante,” I asked, realizing something. “That’s not why you call me _tico.”_

He briefly squinted and wrinkled his nose, then he half-smiled like he was thinking _gotcha_. “No, it isn’t.”

I cuddled up to him, thinking that I should grab something to clean us off but not wanting to lose the moment. “So…tell me.”

His fingers stroked my hair. “It means a little bit of something.”

“A little bit of what?”

“It’s like…you have all you need — plenty of everything — and you’re content with what you have. Then someone offers you a little bit of something you thought you never needed and you think to yourself…yeah, I want that.”

“Really?” I smiled, elated and overwhelmed with how ridiculously sweet that thought was. And romantic. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him play the whole roses and restaurants with white tables kind of romance. Not with anyone. But he had this way of doing things that felt haphazard and curious, some out-of-the-park idea that seemed like they made no sense at all. Until it all came together and it was magic. “So, that whole thing about being a dick…”

“What about it?”

“So, it wasn’t really…it wasn’t true?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you just said…”

“Oh, it was so true,” he stepped out of bed, reached down, threw me a towel and walked into the hallway.

I yelled after him, “Are you mad? …No…. You’re not….Wait…Are you?…Get back here!”

He came back with an arched eyebrow and a brand new pack of baby wipes that he was in the midst of tearing the plastic away from. 

“Yes, _tico_? You were getting upset about something?”

I pulled a sheet from the container and cleaned him off. I took my time to sweep the curves of his collarbones and his pecs, his naval, all the beautiful bumps and curves of his body.

“You seem confused. Like I would care so little to call you something that only meant one thing.”

“So…you really are calling me a dick.”

“Of course.”

“Hm.”

Dante crawled back into bed and gathered me up in his arms so that my head was in the dip of his shoulder, “You’re unhappy with something?”

“Yeah. I’m not fond of the concept.”

“Considering that I would no sooner be parted from you than I would my _caralho_ — because I swear I wouldn’t — I’m quite fond of the concept.”

“I just have to change, then. Stop being…”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, interrupting me, and leaned in to kiss me.

“Anything else you want to tell me while we’re talking about all this stuff? Maybe there’s something you should warn me about?” 

“You mean something like when we prepare our wedding vows, yours are going to include that _I obey my husband_ part?”

“We’re going to have wedding vows?”

“Dunno, are we?”

I thought for a second, smiled, and said,“Yeah.”

When I tilted my head back and saw that Dante had already closed his eyes. His breathing got deeper. It seemed like he was asleep. Then he murmured, “Good. When you propose, make it really romantic, yeah? Cause I may not say yes unless I’m impressed.”

He kissed my forehead.

Then he was asleep.


End file.
